His Butterfly
by Soiree
Summary: Draco Malfoy always thought butterflies were beautiful as a child. Their ability to blend in with their surroundings, their natural beauty.... And thus in his adulthood, he captured his most prized butterfly yet...Hermione Granger.
1. Prologue

_Prologue-_

_The sleet was hailing down, turning the sky a darkened grey with every step he took. The black mud sploshed against his bare feet, as he fought his way through the peat. Every step drained his will to keep going, the will to re-capture her and cage her like a beautiful butterfly but yet he harried on. Fighting the urge to just stand still and wait for the quicksand of oozing mud to suck him under._

_He needed her--oh lord, he needed her. To en-cage her beauty and essence within him, to fill that gaping void in his chest that was inhumane._

_With her, he was gentle. Always gentle. She was the only person in the world who made him feel that way, and he'd be damned if he never felt it again._

_The cottage was miles behind him, the door still agape with light. A part of him craved the warmth, the laughter, the hope but yet he knew he couldn't return until he found her. Everything in there, reminded him of her. Before Hermione, the house was bleak and cold but after.....he had never looked so forward to enter that doorway and to smell the delicious aromas of cooking or see her brilliant face beaming at him with joy._

_With her he was a different man, and now, without her he could feel the old bitter Draco returning. The one that wanted to turn and tear the world apart until he found her. Soulful eyes gazing up at him in fear._

_This wasn't the first time she had tried to escape._

_But it was the first time she had been marginally successful in her attempt._

_He was furious. With himself. With her. With ever falling in love with her in the first place._

_But if Draco Malfoy was one thing--it was persistent. He would find her, there was no question about it--- and then it was only the matter of making her pay._

* * *

A/N: a sinister beginning for a very loooong story, lol.

Please review. It'd make me update faster :)


	2. The First Butterfly

**18 years ago--**

"DOOOBBBBBBY!"

The house-elf beside him squeaked, and accidentally pricked Draco's hip with a needle. The elf had been attempting to get the young Malfoy ready for an important occasion that night, but was finding the task rather difficult with heavily bandaged hands. It was rather un-nerving that Malfoy did not speak once; even after getting pricked with a needle countless amount of times; and instead sat there, blinking docily down at him.

"WHERE IS MY SON?! I CAN'T STAND FOR YOUR IMPERTINENCE, ELF. GET HIM DOWN HERE AT ONCE!"

Dobby could almost picture his master, Lord Malfoy, at the foot of the stairs yelling. His face a mottled purple, from letting all the blood rush too quick to his face.

"I'm sorry, young sir," Dobby apologised once again, and cringed when the young 'un did not reply. Already Dobby was going through twelve various forms of punishment he could do to himself, and decided as his hands could not withstand another dose in the oven, piercing his ear-lobes with iron-hot pokers instead, would have to do.

Narcissa burst into the room in panic, her blonde hair flying behind her as she searched wildly for her son. At last she spotted him, huddled in the corner of the room on top of the stool, looking rather handsome in some grey nylon shorts and chequered shirt. The tiny farmer's cap perched on his golden locks made Narcissa's heart melt, as he blinked up at her.

She crouched on her knees in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder and a finger on her lips. Draco nodded, his eyes fixed unblinkingly upon his mother.

"Your father is in an angry mood tonight, so please, " she begged, "Don't talk to him until he speaks to you first. And don't fidget too much during the floo journey, okay? We don't want a repeat performance of last time."

She shuddered as the thoughts of her son's swollen eye came into mind---his eye so puffed, that he couldn't open it for weeks. Now all that was to be seen, was the remnants of the bruise, a butterfly shaped pattern around his left eye that looked more face paint than injury.

Draco nodded once, his small hand clutching Narcissa's before another yell, split them apart.

And that was the first time Draco felt hatred.

Hatred that the man, known as his father, was the only thing that stopped his mother from gathering him in her arms when he was scared. Whenever he was hurt---injured---lonely---

Loveless.

* * *

Draco kicked his chair for the third time that night, causing for the entire group of grown-ups to stop chattering and stare down at him. They were seated at an oval table, twenty feet long, and there was not another child in sight as the meeting continued into the later hours of the evening. He was hungry, cold and extremely bored. It didn't help that he couldn't understand a word that was going on.

"For god's sake woman!" roared Lucius, as Draco shrunk in his chair. Previously his head had been barely able to clear the table, but now, only a tendril of silver gold hair could be seen.

"Can you not control your own child?!"

The question had been aimed at Narcissa; non-surprisingly and anyone listening would have been forgiven to think that Lucius was not the father. But a glance between father and son, not one could doubt the gene pool that both Malfoy's shared.

Narcissa consolingly stroked Draco's blistered knee, as she glared fiercely back at her husband seated beside her. God, why did Lucius have to talk about his son in such an un-caring way? It was only two months ago that their child had stopped wetting himself whenever Lucius was in the room!

Well aware that there was deatheaters gawping at the pair, but feeling what needed to be said should be said anyway, Narcissa ploughed on.

"He is your son too," she hissed furiously. " He is your _heir. _Why must you disparage him so with your every breath in his direction? He is only five, for gods-sake!"

Lucius glared just as fiercely as back. His mouth drawing into a cruel snarl as he saw a spark of defiance emerge from his usually tranquil wife. They were at a board-meeting for gods-sake! Discussing the importance of tracking the Dark Lord's last movements---and his _wife _dared to broach the topic that was his _parenting skills? _

"Narcissa. Would you step outside for a moment?" her husband demanded, pushing back his chair. He made for the door, back-handedly throwing, "Bring the brat also." behind him.

Draco trailed miserably behind his mother, as she floated gracefully out of the Macnair's parlour. By the time, Narcissa had closed the door quietly behind her and turned around, Lucius was ready to pounce on her.

He slammed a hand around her throat and shoved her heavily into the door behind. Narcissa squeaked, struggling in vain as her tiny feet kicked helplessly in thin air. Draco stood to the side, his eyes affixed at the emerald slippers that had slid of Narcissa's feet onto the floor and didn't look up again till Lucius spoke.

"You dare to defy me, when you question the way I parent that boy? In front of Macnair all the less? Do you mean to undermine my authority? Speak, woman!"

Draco watched in fear, as he saw his father's hand splayed across the underside of his mother's breast. The lace gown Narcissa was wearing was thin, and in the coldness of the bleak hallway, did nothing to disguise the two stiff peaks emerging under the lace. Lucius saw this and smirked, his eyes cruel as his hands mercilessly tweaked her nipples before angrily twisting them whilst he watched her beautiful face twist in pain.

If he had been expecting for his wife to scream, then disappointment was in store. Narcissa only opened her lips to gasp, "Please...Not in front of the boy..."

Thankfully, this time, Lucius stopped, choosing to not continue the torture any longer. He glanced down at his son, and frowned when he saw a look of rage pass across his face. A second not too soon, the boy attacked, baring both hands as claws as his arms immediately reached out to scratch Lucius's legs. Draco was halted with a single hand to the forehead, as he was held away from Lucius's form to prevent any flailing hands catching him in his _jewels. _

_"_We'll continue this when we get home, boy," Lucius promised, before catching Draco by the scruff of the neck and pushing him in the Kitchen direction. "Go attack the garden, boy and remind me to never take you anywhere again." He laughed coldly, before taking a firm grip of Narcissa's elbow and guiding her back into the room.

Draco was instead left outside, staring murderously at the now closed parlour's doors and wishing his age hadn't prevented him from some serious Lucius-bollocking.

* * *

"Awww.....well if it isn't Princess Buttercup, deciding to join us for the evening."

The gloating voice of only an eight-year-old floated through the hot summer's night to perch on Draco's ears. For the past thirty minutes he had been broodily kicking a heavy branch, and this new interruption was most definitely unwelcome.

Considering the person behind it was Robert Macnair, son of Mr Macnair, and whose garden he was precisely standing in that very moment-- he continued kicking the branch. His farmer's cap long ago lost in the two acres of grass that was the garden. "I'm not a girl," he muttered angrily.

"What was that?" Macnair asked, wanting Draco to suffer. From the very first moment he had stepped foot in the house, Robert couldn't stand the golden-haired ponce.

Draco slowly turned around, his eyes glittering suspiciously as he took in Robert and his two croons, Crabbe and Goyle. They all towered over him, and aside for Goyle were gloriously big in size. They could do serious harm to a five-year-old, if they wished.

"Oooohh...Looks lads, Princess Buttercup's been _crying..._Your mother still being raped by your father, is it?"

Draco didn't know what rape was. But in the way that Macnair had dipped his voice to dangerously low levels, suggested it was something bad. He furiously wiped his wet cheeks, hollow at even such a young age, and deciding he didn't want to speak to such goons, thought stamping on Robert's feet would deliver the ultimate satisfaction.

"OWWW! You ponce! GET HIM!"

The agonised yell which made him smile, only made him spur his tiny feet all the faster. He sprinted by the pond lake, and rushed to the clump of trees at the end of the garden, which would make the perfect hiding place. Dodging the brambles and leaves, and listening hard for any shouts behind him, Draco found the perfect spot to hide in a little burrow big enough to fit his small body.

After checking there was no rabbits inside, he squeezed himself in, and curled into a tight ball.

* * *

His stomach was hurting. His arms and legs were full of pins and needles but yet he still hid. An hour, two....maybe three. But still Draco did not emerge from his hiding place. If he closed his eyes, and wished the smell of rabbit poo away, Draco almost felt like staying there forever. A small cocoon where nothing and nobody could hurt him. A place where he was kept safe from predators and people alike.

Sometimes when Draco looked in a mirror, he didn't like what he saw. His nose was too cute, his eye colour too unique. But his hair was the worst yet. Every time he went to Diagon Alley with his mother, the sale clerks fussed over him as if he was somebody precious. Special. Petted his hair and claimed how sweet he was. All because of his features. They made him stand out, be different--unique--not the same as all the other mousy-haired shoppers bustling about.

It asked for attention and most of the time, all he wished was to receive no attention at all. Whenever his father hit him, whenever Dobby got hit for handling the young Malfoy too gently, he wondered that if he was invisible, would any of this happen?

His mother wouldn't get hurt for mollycoddling him, the house-elves would not be asked to iron their hands because they gave him one too many scoops of ice-cream...

If he blended into the background, then he wouldn't _need _to hide from Macnair and his cronies.

And it was then, at that moment of time, Draco Malfoy first became obsessed with butterflies.

Sleeping was ladling his body as the moon shone high, when he first saw a wooden stone. He lay frowning, thinking it was not possible for there to be a stone made out of wood, and if he hadn't been staring at the ground with complete boredom would not have caught his attention either. Carefully reaching out for a twig, Draco prodded the wooden stone softly before gasping as it twitched.

He watched with amour, as the wooden stone seemed to rise in the air and started to...flutter?

It was a butterfly. Disturbed from it's resting place but now ready to fly beautifully through the air. He watched with a dull pang in his heart, as it fluttered freely through the night sky. Care-free and happy because there was no predators to eat it. How could they? It was so beautifully disguised to blend into the background-- for no-one to notice their beauty unless one were to take a closer look.

A bubble of laughter worked through his chest as he followed the butterfly's path to only yell out in pain, when a pudgy hand shot out of the darkness and crushed the butterfly in it's fist.

"NO!" he hoarsely screamed, the burrow all of a sudden feeling like a cage, a barrier. He kicked the earth, trying to propel himself forwards only to be wrenched out by two pairs of hands.

Draco struggled with all his might, but what can one do when surrounded by three aggressors? The lack of saliva in his mouth, made his words indistinguishable to hear. "Let go of me!"

Robert grinned back at him, the moonlight making him seem almost half-demonic. He held out a pudgy fist and slowly unravelled the fingers to reveal the crushed body of the butterfly. "You wanted this?" he asked innocently.

With a terrorized yell, Mafloy stomped on Crabbe and Goyle's feet causing them to hop about on one foot in pain. That left Robert uncovered.

The slow smile spreading on Draco's face was enough to chill anyone to their bones. "You killed my butterfly," he monotonously repeated before launching himself at the bigger boy.

It didn't take much to make Robert Macnair scream, Malfoy soon had the pleasure of finding out.

* * *

A/N: I poured all my heart out onto that chapter :) By the end of it, I was on the verge of jumping into the story and giving Draco a big hug myself--sniffle--

Please review. It'd make me update faster :)

And thank you for your lovely reviews last time---it was very unexpected but nice! :)


	3. Growing Wings

**10 years ago--**

His first victim had been a muggleborn.

The trip to Diagon Alley, had been like any other. Although he had grown out of his wide eyes and wounded nature, the clerks still fussed over him. Instead of stroking his hair, they clasped their hands and looked up at him, melting into a puddle of feminine goowiness. "_What a handsome lad you've grown into!" _they'd trill, and then proceed to drop hints that their virgin daughters were yet to marry.

In another lifetime, Draco would've sought amusement from this. But at the age of thirteen, disgust had been his only answer. "No, thank you," he'd say and watch with satisfaction as their faces fell.

"What's wrong with you?" hissed Narcissa, having dragged him out of Madam Malkins after facing yet another lecture on disciplining disrespectful boys, no matter how angelic their faces were. She stared at her son in resignation, and noted how uncannily he resembled his father. The same lean frame. The same grey eyes. Even the way Draco leaned against the side of the store and crossed his arms reminded her of Lucius.

"What did you expect me to say, mother?" Draco said cuttingly. "How can you expect me to stand there and be polite, whilst they barter their daughter's eligibility like salesmen on a busy market stall? I'm only human mother, and a pureblood at that. Surely you should congratulate me for taking valued interest on the Malfoy lineage?"

Narcissa's heart broke bit by bit at the words her son spoke. His eyes were shuttered, his scowl speaking millions. Almost dizzingingly, Narcissa had an abrupt flashback to when Draco was a mere one year old and had clung onto his mother's breast as if he never wanted to let go.

His eyes had been so fragile then. Breath-taking and warm. What had she done in the past decade or so, to make that vulnerability ebb year by year till all that glared back at her were two searing coals?

"You're becoming more and more like your father, by the year," Narcissa choked and drew her shawl around her shivering form. Anything but look into his eyes and see the loss of innocence, that she should've protected but didn't.

"I thought that's what you wanted," his tone accused, his eyes even more so. "I thought that's what you _all _wanted. You see why I never want to marry, mother?" By then he had advanced on the shorter woman and was staring her straight in the face. Draco refused to acknowledge the heart pang that followed, when Narcissa refused to meet his eyes. He continued, almost angrily, "I know how I'm like. I know if I have a woman all I'd do is beat her and beat her until I see the fear reflected in your eyes."

His finger was electric as he traced his mother's cheekbone. "Don't think I don't notice mother. Everytime father walks into the room, I see the way you flinch. And I refuse to put another woman through the agony father put you through because I know who and what I am."

Draco stepped back and forcefully said, "My father's son," before turning abruptly and making move to re-enter the store, where his dress robes were still being prepared.

Narcissa's hand was comandeering when it lashed out to grab hold of Draco's wrist. "No!" she growled and used what little energy she had to propel Draco back to his previous position. "Why won't you listen to me? There's always a choice, Draco and you being cruel is not one of them!"

"It stops you getting beaten, doesn't it?"

The scornful question had Narcissa gasping loudly. "What?" she whispered as her fingers anxiously flew up to her throat and fidgeted with the pendant there.

Draco's answer was flippant, uncaring almost. "Me being cruel. It stops father laying into you, doesn't it? Or, maybe I got it wrong. By the way you keep harping on about being _caring _and _gentle, _I'd almost say you _enjoy _being beaten.... Am I right, mother? Is anything I'm saying ringing a bell?"

Narcissa seemed to sway on her feet as Draco's accusation hit home. Why was he saying such hurtful things? Surely he _knew _that every single bruise she acquired would be worth it, if he grew up to be a loving and respected man with a beautiful wife and beautiful children? Draco seemed to take the ticking silence as golden, and stepped back with disgust in his eyes. The side-parting Dobby had so methdoically combed earlier falling into his anguished brow.

"I am right," he said wonderingly and then leaving his mother shakiningly slumped against the wall, he walked away.

Not choosing once to look back.

* * *

For a while, Draco watched Potter and his cronies slurp ice-cream outside Florean Fortescue's. He hadn't been looking for them, but they were scarcely hard to miss. Granger looked up briefly to catch his eye before yelping as a gnarled tomcat tried unsuccessfully to lick her delicacy. "Crookshanks!" came her infuriated cry, but let the cat demolish the rest of her ice-cream all the same.

Draco, already bored, scanned the nearby shops to see if any interested him. The midday sun was beating upon his back, and the dress robes only amplified the sweat coating his body. One in particular caught his eye- Magical Menagarie. It was a shop he'd never been in before, usually preferring the sharp glitz of Quality Quidditch Supplies and the latest range of brooms on offer.

But somehow, he found himself on the fast-beaten track winding to the store, hoping against hope it provided protection from the sun. Nobody greeted him from behind the counter, as the bells situated above the door announced his arrival in a merry little tune.

Draco was glad.

He wandered the aisles with a scant laziness unmistakable in his steps. Politely acknowledging the animals with a nod of his head; as they followed them with jewel-bright eyes. But yet it wasn't the Puffskeins or the firecrabs or poisonous orange snails he wanted to see, but the brushing of wings in the darkest of thickets....

His desire was fullfilled, when entirely by chance Draco discovered the Butterfly Aquarium at the back of the shop. Draco rapped his knuckles on the glass and watched with hooded eyes, as nothing stirred within the aquarium. He tried it again-- and again-- until by the end his skin was rubbed raw and blood speckled the transparent barrier separating him from the butterflies.

From behind him, came a warrior-like cry and a bundle of cloak and hair, indistinguishible from one another barrelled into his back. "Stop it, sir! Please stop hurting yourself!"

The words did not register. Instead Draco let out a ferocious roar of his own and struck out wildly, determined to hold his ground. The pressure vanished soon after his fist connected and Draco used the spinning momentum of the attack to swivel around and growl. Brown teary eyes rendered his anger useless before fading into the shadows, as his victim stepped back.

The girl sniffed.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked sharply. It was disconcerting to realize this girl may have witnessed that moment of weakness by the aquarium. What if it had been someone from school? Or worse, someone like his father?

"I was hiding," she croaked. "I wanted mummy, daddy or Sarah to find me."

"But I did instead," he muttered.

The girl was younger than he originally thought. The brief glimpse of brown wavy hair and long thin legs earlier had been misleading. Draco had stopped calling his mother, _mummy _at the age of six. From what he had gleaned out from Blaise, he had stopped at the age of eleven when he realised that _mummy _was the fastest way of being ridiculed. Especially in a house like Slytherin- the most ancient and purest of houses.

Draco took a step away from the aquarium, but stopped when the girl eeped and moved backward, nearly falling over a spider house.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Draco soothed, throwing out a hand to show he was unarmed. Almost unbidden; the image of him as a little boy holding out a branch to prod an unmoving insect entered his mind. He remembered the astonishment he felt, when the insect fluttered into air and danced freely in the wind, having minutes earlier resembled a wooden stone. And then he remembered the heart wrenching agony as a fist shot out of the-

"_No."_

His eyes shot open.

"I won't let anybody hurt you."

But instead of a delicate invertebrate, it was a five foot girl who met his eyes dead-on. Draco let the silver luminance of his eyes stupefy the girl into swaying towards him. The girl was too young to admire or even lust, after this angelic boy's features. But yet she was wise enough to solemnly acknowledge that he was the most beautiful person she had ever met. Even Sarah, with her thickly coiled hair and fanning eyelashes couldn't compare! And Sarah was the beauty of the family.

"I trust you."

Draco smiled softly, his palm held out in friendship. He looked serene as the girl reached out a hand to accept him, not noticing the spider perched on her shoulder until it was too late. She reacted unexpectadly.

"Aaargh! Geddit off! Geddit off!"

As she thrashed, the spider clung on with all eight of it's legs, flexing a few menacingly. The shiny placard by the spider house caught Draco's eyes, as he scanned the room for the assistant that should surely be descending upon them. He read it quickly; picking out the vital details.

_Araneae sanguis_

_A spider found only in the ancient of realms, it's primary diet consists of blood from roosters, pigs or horses. It also has an acquired taste of muggleborn blood. The only counteract to their deadly venom, is that of a pureblood with a traceable ancestry of at least six centuries sacrificing his blood willingly. So muggles, beware!_

_"_It's alright," Draco called in relief. "It can do you no harm! It only bites mud-"

A strangled cry stopped him in mid-stride. Slowly, almost painfully, he turned to face the girl he was trying to reassure. The spider scuttled past his feet unnoticed; as he stared at the girl clasping her shoulder in pain. Draco's heart thudded in his brain, willing her to _lie, _say anything but what she was going to say next...

"I-It bit me."

To his disgust, her lower lip trembled.

" You're a mu-mudblood?"

The girl was allowed a window of time to look confused; before the venom seized her body and she collapsed. Draco half turned his face away, trying to block out the eplileptic fit she was having and the sound of froth choking her lungs. He stared at the spider house instead and tried to concentrate on how many cob-webs he could see. _One, two-_

_Just ignore her. Three, four- She's unworthy-_

Whilst conflict reigned in his head, things behind him had gone oddly silent. Draco told himself not to care. She had abused his trust, by making him want to protect her and shield her. How could he have been so stupid to compare _her _to that butterfly he had seen all those years ago? They were nothing alike!

_They're everything alike, _his brain whispered. _This is your chance to set things right. Save her. Don't let it get crushed the second time round, Draco._

* * *

"Mummy! Daddy!"

She ran into her parents' arms like it was her last saving salvation in the world. She clung fiercely to her mother in particular; as Sarah hovered in the background, worry etched on her face.

"Gwen!" she cried. "Where have you _been?"_

From the window of Magical Menagarie, Draco waited with baited breath. The reflective sheen of the lights marred the window black, meaning he could clearly see into the alley but nobody else would be able to look in. A perfect cover, if he said so himself.

At the glowing attention of her family, Gwen almost seemed to flower on the spot. She flicked back her hair and launched into her tale of dashing angels, splitting their fingers wide open to save her- yes, her!- from the brink of death by a poisonous spider. Whilst her family looked incredulously on; Draco clenched his fist in reflex and muttered a _oof _when the skin on his forefinger busted open again.

Of course Gwen was the type of person who thrived on attention. It had been his mistake to assume otherwise, when she had said she'd been _hiding. _The butterflies he normally chased after were the ones who _didn't_ hide_,_but merely camouflaged themselves into the background in plain sight. He was a fool to confuse the two.

A loud yawn from behind him, informed Draco the shop assistant had finally woke. The portly man slapped his beer belly as he emerged from the storage room; and spotted Draco standing by the window lost in his thoughts.

"My boy!" he boomed, "It seems I fell asleep after our last customer!"

"Oh, yes?" Draco turned, "And who might that have been?"

Even though both parties knew the conversation was leading nowhere, the exchange of pleasantries was strangely enjoyable.

The shop-keeper rubbed his chin in thought, before finally snapping his fingers. "It was that girl who bought that 'ell-fire of a cat! Wandered in 'ere with those friends of 'ers, she did. Now....what was 'er name again? Her- Her- 'mione Granger?"

* * *

**The reponse to this has blown me away :) Thank you thank you thank you! **


	4. Shedding The Cocoon

**4 years ago-**

The war had been won and lost.

Pushing aside the crowd, ignoring the yelps of indignation, Draco came to a standstill and let the cacophony of fireworks wash over him. Red. White. Blue. A snapping Dragon courtesy of Ronald Weasley. Draco's eyes dropped to the insufferable Joke-shop owner and felt hot, undeniable hatred slice through him like a knife.

Standing opposite him, yet world's apart, he looked the picture of tranquility as he hugged Hermione Granger to his side. Her face was full of peace too. Her head was tucked under his chin, both hands looped around his waist. As Draco watched, they shared an intimate kiss, before upturning their faces to the night sky once more.

Green. Purple. Gold.

Their eyes reflected their perfect future together.

Draco angrily took a swig from his bottle, not knowing who to hate more. His old man at home was atrocious, always ready to pay a little lip-service, and then this stupid anniversary had to come around. All the bleeding good-doers gathered in Diagon Alley, drinking and celebrating until the early hours of dawn.

So Voldemort was dead.

Was life that fucking great?

"Excuse me, sir. You're blocking my view," a voice timidly said. He turned, and saw a boy of six dressed in his pyjamas. Just behind him, were two concerned parents. The boy reflected an innocence Draco craved. Something he had lost a long time ago. He bent down on both knees, so their faces were levelled.

"Well you can bloody have it back."

The mum gasped and jerked her son back. "If I never - !"

Draco rose to his full height, putting the extra inches to good use, and looked down on the father, asking for a fight. What right did he have to parade his family, on this shitty day? Draco sincerely hoped he was a good father, because it would make punching him all the more worthwhile. Everyone should be hurting. Everyone should have to feel the clawing pain, he felt, everytime he woke up in this world.

"Go on," he egged. "Hit me."

The man hesitated. Noble pretentious idiot.

The crowd gasped and scattered, as Draco lunged with a fist, but was quickly thwarted by another adversary. The mum had her wand out. She was panting hard. The spell she had produced was so potent, it had spun Draco into the air and cracked his spine against the cobbles.

Laughing, just about, Draco touched his nose, and felt blood coating his cupid's bow.

"Thank you," he said, "You have equipped me to deal with Lucius."

And then he apparated, leaving a very traumatised family behind.

* * *

Back home in Malfoy Manor, the house-elves were running for safety. Lucius was on a warpath, and since Narcissa was still recuperating from a serious illness at St Mungo's, there was no-one to take the fall. Against advice, Draco had snuck out on the eve of Voldemort's downfall, fanning Lucius's ire.

"Wait till I get my hands on that treacherous toad," he raged, hitting an unshielded house-elf with his stick.

He didn't stop until it was dead.

"I'll wring out his puny neck and - "

He came to an abrupt stop at the foot of the stairs, a wicked smile slowly taking form. For years, the boy had been a thorn in his side. He demonstrated none of the callousness his forebearers were famed for, and almost seemed apologetic when casting the cruciatus curse on prisoners. The boy needed to learn a valuable lesson once and for all. Methodically, and with precision, he climbed the stairs towards Draco's bedroom.

It was locked. As usual.

But that wasn't what he came for. Besides the Slytherin crested door, there was a smaller, mahogany door that had a clover-leaf shaped keyhole. Smirking, he reached up with his cane and scrapped it along the top, so dust and a black iron key could unsettle and fall into his waiting hand.

"Your comeuppance, boy." He whispered.

The door swung open to reveal a massive aquarium, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. Inside it, was around thirteen dozen species thriving in the dim lights, and extensive foliage provided for them. Lucius walked down the narrow corridor, examining both sides.

Speckled, coloured, transparent, he had them all.

However they all shared one thing in common.

_There wasn't a single, wretched one to be seen!_

Frustrated, Lucius bent over and peered through the glass. Did Draco pre-empt this situation, and craftily move all the buggers out? He trained his eyes to see through all the green, and flowers, but all he saw was his own irritated expression reflected back at him.

He straightened up, and aimed his wand at the darkest corner of the room. "_Confringo!" _It went up in flames, the glass shattering outwards. As the specimens (he hoped) dissolved in a fiery carnage, he repeated the spell several times until the whole aquarium was going.

"Ahahaha - " His laughter was cut short, when he spotted a dark shadow leaping up the stairs. Draco pelted into a wall, before peeling himself off, and continuing up the next three steps to reach the landing. He howled, a dark and agonizing sound, when he saw the room he prized above all others, melting into the ground.

"FATHER!"

"Yes son?"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Lucius laughed, not taking the threat seriously and crossed his arms as Draco entered. With his hands braced against the doorsill, and soot coating one cheek, the mad crazed look in his eye looked desperate, but not formidable. It was amusing actually. Seeing his first-born crumble over the death of a few _butterflies._

"Oh, good." Lucius patronised. "For a second there, I thought you outwitted me, and moved them onto a secret location. But going by your expression - I've hit the jackpot!"

With a yowl, Draco whipped out his wand and aimed the killing curse.

This immediately sobered Lucius up.

"Now, now. Try not to be foolish, Draco. Your first _Avada Kedavra _shouldn't be aimed at _me."_

"Why not!"

"I'm your _father, _Draco."

"Only when it suits!" The fire was affecting neither of them, each having cast a protection spell before engaging in this showdown. Draco circled his father, eyes measuring the distance, sporting a bloody nose. What weakness. Not even being able to defend against something like _that. _"The rest of the time you're bloody useless!"

"Come now! I'm only showing you the right path."

"_Right path, _father? How is raping mother, and hitting me, the right path? You've made me despise the ground you walk on, yet I respect and admire you for it. See how that is fucking with my head? I don't know whether to kill you, or start taking notes on some parchment. You clearly deserve some recognition, either way!"

"Enough!"

_"Expelliarmus," _a jet shot out of Draco's wand, and disarmed Lucius. At the same time, his cane was blasted away. This made him raise an eyebrow, and appraise his son _properly _for the first time. He was wrong to underestimate this room and the significance it had on Draco's well-being. This shrivelling mess was going to kill him. And in his death, a monster was going to be born, right in the embers of this aquarium.

"Draco - " he tried again.

"Shut up, old man. The power lies with me, not you."

"Don't do it. It will split your soul."

"What do you care about my soul?"

"At least listen to me - "

"I'M _DONE _LISTENING TO YOU! DON'T WORRY. I'LL LET THE WHOLE WORLD KNOW YOU DIED BY YOUR OWN HAND. BUT YOU AND I NOW THE TRUTH, OLD MAN. _**I **_TOOK YOUR LIFE! YOUR MEANINGLESS, PATHETIC, WORTHLESS LIFE! AND IF I HAVE TO DESTROY MY SOUL IN THE PROCESS - SO BE IT!"

"NO! - "

"Avada Kedavra."

A wash of green swept over the room, turning the flames emerald just for a second, so it was like they were flooing directly into the gates of hell. But the glow faded, and Lucius's body fell limp to the ground, fear contorting his face. Within seconds, the protection spell failed, and flames started licking up his robes.

Panting, Draco stared down at his hand. There was no shakiness.

In fact his grip was calm and precise, despite the livefeed his brain was undergoing. A thunderous boom overheard, made Draco glance up, and realise the ceiling was on the brink of collapsing. He felt tempted to stay inside and end his life. But the best revenge would to be outlive that disintegrating corpse over there.

He stared at it.

"I don't feel any different, father. Who says you were my first."

Smirking, he stepped outside and sealed the fire inside, so it wouldn't affect the rest of the Manor. The obituary that he had written when he was fifteen, now had a chance of publication.

* * *

Four months later, in a nondescript café in London, Draco sipped the coffee he had confunded from a nearby customer. It tasted increasingly bitter, but Draco's mind was elsewhere, as his eyes remained fixed on the newspapers headline. There was a picture of Weasley and Granger, ducking inside a ramshackled house.

.

**_Ronald Weasley Announces Engagement!_**

_The wizarding press waited agog, as Ronald Weasley, 19 and Hermione Granger, 20 stepped out of their abode (currently The Burrow) to a plethora of questions. A young love that blossomed under the nose of Harry Potter, it was hard to miss the loving way they touched each other, and returned each other's gazes._

_"Yes, I popped the question over Christmas," Mr Weasley beamed. "She said yes, of course!" The overenthusiastic groom-to-be, grabbed his fiance's hand and showed the entire world a magnificent ring. Naturally questions arose about HOW he could afford such an extravagance, but it was quickly brushed aside._

_"Okay, we're going in now," Miss Granger prematurely interrupted, ruining our fun. As they made their escape, one last question was thrown out in terms of a reasonable answer._

_"Is there anyone NOT on your invitation list?!"_

_Mr Weasley poked his head out at that one. "Yeah, Malfoy -" he began, before he was once again pulled inside._

_So you heard it here first, folks! Wedding bells loom for the the most well-reported couple this side of the century! Harry Potter better put on his skates fast, and pop the question to his respective partner, if he doesn't want to be left with mothballs covering his lightening bolt._

_._

Draco snorted, and put down the paper. He grimaced as he reached the end of the coffee, and set aside the polystyrene cup. So the lovebirds were getting hitched. The world didn't stand a chance once their offspring was inevitably unleashed. Eyes soft-focused, he didn't realise he was looking at the picture again, until something stirred within his belly.

It was Granger's hair.

It kept ducking repetitively to avoid the onslaught of camera flashes. She was hiding.

_Hiding._

The word strung forward a familiar set of images, one he had satisfied by keeping a walk-in aquarium at home. Now that was reduced to ash, there was nothing to show his real self too. All he did was hurt, and hurt, and hurt, but the tenderness had nowhere to go.

Subconsciously, his finger stroked the curve of her neck.

She was filthy, someone he had known since he was eleven. Not once did he think of her as a butterfly, not when he was too busy aiming insults her way. But there she was. And here he was. Gawking at her - and _why couldn't he stop stroking her picture?_

Rattled, Draco withdrew his hand and placed it on his lap. Now it was shaking. However much he concentrated, the slight tremors that ran through his fingerpads wouldn't stop. Had someone put a curse on the Daily Prophet, just to hide around the corner and have a good giggle?

He turned his head sharply, but of course it was paranoia.

Nobody was even looking at him.

Warily, he let his fingers drift out and yet again follow the familiar motion of stroking. The Hermione in the picture, still holding hands with Ron, peeked up at him with a defiant expression. Clearly not realising this little act, would make Draco fixate on her for years and years to come until she finally was...

_"Mine."_

* * *

AN: Wowzar. What a treat that was to write. I always put 110% into emotions, and as Draco is a dark, complex character I hope I'm giving him justice. Everytime I write a chapter for this story, it gives me chills. I've never had that before.

Your reviews give me inspiration, so please make your presence known. I might give a shout-out nxt chapter!


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